


5 Times Mycroft Turned to Cake for Comfort, and 1 Time He Didn't

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Cake, Comfort Food, Eventual Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Family Dynamics, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 13:11:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14261718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: Mycroft finds comfort in cake





	5 Times Mycroft Turned to Cake for Comfort, and 1 Time He Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd, so any mistakes are mine

1.

Mycroft was ten years old when he slipped into his grandmother’s kitchen. He could hear Sherlock having a screaming tantrum in the other room and Mum shouting for him, asking what he’d done. Grandmother didn’t say anything, just slipped him a piece of chocolate cake from the counter and moved the tablecloth over her workbench so he could climb under it. 

Mummy walked in a few minutes later, shouting for him again. Grandmother hushed her and walked her back out of the kitchen, leaving Mycroft safely hidden under the table, finishing off his piece of cake.

2.

At sixteen Mycroft was still chubby, still often responsible for his little brother. This time though, he was slipping into Grandmother’s kitchen for a different reason, sitting down at her table and running his hands through his hair.

Grandmother brought over a piece of vanilla cake. “What is it, Mycroft? Is this about that boy?”

Mycroft looked up at her, surprised.

Grandmother sat down next to him with a piece of cake of her own. “You aren’t the only one good at noticing things.”

Mycroft shrugged and picked up his fork. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered.

“It does matter. You can’t help who you love and no one should look down at you for it. Maybe it’s not this boy, but there will be another one down the road for you.”

Mycroft grumbled, but didn’t bother trying to argue with her, as he knew he’d never win. Instead he had another bite of cake and tried not to think about the fact that he’d have to see the boy again tomorrow at school.

3.

A bit more than a decade later, two years after Grandmother had passed, Mycroft paced outside of Sherlock’s hospital room. It wasn’t the first overdose he’d dealt with, but this time he hadn’t been able to keep Mum and Dad from finding out.

Mum had read him the riot act, of course. Father had given him a sympathetic look, but followed Mum into Sherlock’s room.

Making up his mind, Mycroft walked down to the hospital cafeteria. He’d lost the weight of his childhood and teen years, but times like this… He sat down with a piece of chocolate cake, nowhere near as good Grandmother’s had been, and waited for Mum to find him.

4.

Mycroft walked into his house and rubbed his forehead. John Watson was certainly a character. He could only hope that he wouldn’t regret the good doctor’s continuing relationship with his brother. He opened his refrigerator and sighed into the emptiness.

Plucking a menu off the front he quickly ordered something from one of his usual places. He carried his briefcase into the overly large dining room, looking over paperwork and files until the doorbell rang. He accepted the bag, carried to the kitchen, put away the food, and carried the piece of cake back to the table, eating it absentmindedly as he made notes.

5.

To the world, Sherlock Holmes was dead. To Mycroft, he would effectively be out of his hands. All he could do was trust that he’d return. He sighed as he watched Sherlock get on the plane that would take him out of England.

Once the plane was out of sight, Mycroft gave instructions to his driver. A short time later he walked into a little cafe. He took a seat near the back of the place, scrubbing his face in his hands. 

“Long day, Mister Holmes?” the owner came over and put a piece of cake in front of him.

“As so many others Antone,” said Mycroft with a ghost of a smile.

“You have cake, you’ll feel better.” Antone placed down a fork and a glass of wine, giving him an encouraging nod.

“Thank you.” Mycroft sipped his wine and took a bite of cake, hoping that in the end, it would all be okay.

+1

Mycroft leaned on his umbrella, moving a little slowly. Today had certainly been one of those days. He reached for his door handle, only for it to open under his hand.

Raising his head, he found himself folded into a warm embrace, the door kicked shut behind him.

“Gregory?” He murmured, though that was obvious.

“I heard. Come on.” Greg helped him out of his suit coat, led him to his sofa, and settled him against his chest. Mycroft smiled and closed his eyes, knowing that at last he was safe, at last, this was all he needed.

Plus, Greg made a cake that nearly rivaled Grandmother’s, not that he craved it so much anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> This all came about because TheArtStudentYouHate told me she had cake for breakfast...


End file.
